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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25997890">Cold-blooded are the scaly ones</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isagawa/pseuds/Isagawa'>Isagawa</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>One Piece</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Character Study, Gen, Marineford Spoilers, he makes a cameo, non romantic, ”Crocodile be crocodiling” - my gf</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:13:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,012</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25997890</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isagawa/pseuds/Isagawa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>She had strolled in one day like she had been here before, like the only times Crocodile had set eyes on her weren’t through the wanted posters and newspapers, sat herself next to Crocodile and said: “I heard you were hiring.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Crocodile &amp; Nico Robin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Cold-blooded are the scaly ones</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>☛ Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar's: this fic was HUGELY inspired by chillyacademic’s <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25640293">‘Losing You’</a> esp. the first sentence. It just made me wanna write them so bad!!<br/>☛ ‘but you make it seem like they’re attracted to each other’ THEY’RE NOT OK I’m just very attracted to both of them myself!!!<br/>☛ I have to admit Crocodile was unexpectedly super funny to write. Such an asshole. Love him.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She had been working for Baroque Works for three months when he first realised he was gonna miss Nico Robin.</p><p>The sun of Alubarna, bright and unrelenting, was shining through the high windows. Everyone standing outside the palace for more than three hours was likely to die of thirst, but the temperature within the walls was highly tolerable; he had engaged a devil fruit user especially for this small comfort. A Shichibukai should never be too warm — at least one of Crocodile’s standing. And so, on this bright Friday morning, sitting at the large table of the chilled breakfast room of the Royal Palace with a very dark coffee in hand, Crocodile was bathing in the sun when the thought hit him: he was going to miss her when he’d kill her. </p><p>His cup had clattered loudly against the golden-edged saucer and he had taken a few seconds to understand that was anger, this sensation curling under his skin — this little monster clutching his own hand around the crockery too tight, gritting his own teeth. Crocodile had opened his mouth with purpose; made his jaw pop, his neck. </p><p>Every step of his grand evil plan was doing just fine, and it had been a few months since he had last been angry; longer still since he had felt another emotion remotely humane. He was getting old. In his younger days, he could last years without one. </p><p>This was this that had him reeling. He hadn’t planned on such a thought. </p><p>His fingers drummed an annoyed<em> tap-tap-tap </em>on the rare, dark wood of the varnished table, so expensive it looped back to priceless. Generations of Nefertaris had sat in his place, but Crocodile didn’t see this as a triumph; it was merely what he deserved. </p><p><em> Tap-tap. </em> He was perplexed. Of course, it was just a thought — nothing more, a stray notion passing his mind. What more could it have been anyway? <em> Tap-tap-tap </em>. Still, he was mortified it had occurred to him in the first place. </p><p>And yet some part of himself agreed with it: oh, how he was gonna miss her. He’d never find an employee such as her again. Her experience — the most immaculate resume he had seen in years of villainous career. <em> Tap. </em> The silence. The non-questioning. The sheer efficiency of the woman, he couldn’t help but appreciate. </p><p><em> Tap-tap-tap. </em> He was distracted. He didn’t notice the wood growing lighter, looking more and more like driftwood after each tap of his fingers, clear spot spreading slowly on the surface like drought in a swamp. Humidity sucked dry out of it.</p><p>The table gave a high-pitched whine in surrender before cracking in half. </p><p>Crocodile, having not bothered to startle, looked down: his cup of coffee broken on the ground where it had fallen in the motion, the splinters of centuries-old wood on the floor. </p><p>Bummer.</p><p> </p><p>🔸</p><p> </p><p>One thing Crocodile was particularly fond of was dissecting his victims. Not literally, of course; while it was a natural step when one was to act on their dictatorial vocation, he hated the sight of blood. The dirtiness of it, the smell. Blood was slimy and gross and stained beyond repair, and he liked it best away from him, thank you very much. In that regard, Crocodile and his Devil Fruit were a perfect match: quiet, clean, draining, <em> deadly </em>. The sensation when he changed into sand, coming apart and still in control, had been a nice touch. </p><p>No, dissecting victims— it had to be done symbolically. And Crocodile liked that a lot. Pulling people apart like a jigsaw puzzle. Analysing them until all there was left on the table was vital organs: motivations, wants, needs, <em> ideals. </em> How delicious it was when he found one. Like sinking your teeth in a heart still warm. </p><p>Searching for someone’s weakness was one of Crocodile’s hobbies. It amused him a great deal. And he was quite good at it, too.</p><p>With Nico Robin he was the one left puzzled. </p><p>She had strolled in one day like she had been here before, like the only times Crocodile had set eyes on her weren’t through the wanted posters and newspapers, like she <em> owned the place, </em> sat herself next to Crocodile and said: “I heard you were hiring.” </p><p>Crocodile had debated killing her right there, but he was a little too impressed to do that just yet. Instead, he smiled. It was his best smile, the frank one, the one that showed his teeth. “Did you kill the guards on your way?”</p><p>“I try not to kill the hands of my future employer,” she said. She had a nice voice: cold, yet easy, like everything she said had water under it.</p><p>“What makes you so sure that I’m gonna hire you?”</p><p>“I would be useful,” she said before she lifted her arm, and three more arms sprouted from her elbow. She smiled, too. “I happen to have a lot of hands myself.”</p><p>He didn’t know why, but it was at that moment he knew: there was no blind spot to her. She had no weakness to exploit. </p><p>He leaned in and said, voice honeyed around his cigar, “Let’s talk paycheck.”</p><p>He saw, in her gaze, that she was thinking that of him too. </p><p>Where did that leave them?</p><p> </p><p>🔸</p><p> </p><p>Working with Nico Robin was like working with a bird of prey; silent, utterly boundless, murderous. Crocodile could only laugh when he thought Robin’s enemies had done that; the government itself had done that. They had wanted to wipe her off the map, but she had survived every time. No girl was born a murderer, but you could only survive so long before you became one.</p><p>One of the world’s greatest fears, and as all weapons, it was man-made.</p><p>Crocodile wasn’t scared— wasn’t even alarmed. He himself was a predator, and all bird of prey that she was, he knew in the end she was just that: a bird. He could crack her tender skull between his teeth in no time. </p><p>“But,” Daz Bones said to him one day, “the bird has talons and could still tear your eyes out before you finish it.”</p><p>Crocodile blew a dense cloud of smoke. In the sunset light, it had lovat green undertones. “It’s pleasant talking with you, Daz. No one else would have had the guts to say that.”</p><p>They didn’t talk about her again.</p><p> </p><p>🔸</p><p> </p><p>After that it had been— the same, but not quite. There were moments that would catch him off guard. Moments that would make him narrow his eyes. </p><p>She had guessed his favorite food on the second try despite not knowing him for more than three hours. </p><p>He liked efficiency but didn’t mind cruelty from time to time —as a treat— and she would sometimes complete her mission with what looked like unabashed sadism, before he realised she wasn’t necessarily doing it on purpose.</p><p>He was an early riser but she beat him to it every morning. </p><p>It ticked him off in ways he didn’t understand; it made him smile his slow, reptile smile in ways he didn’t understand.</p><p>After a while he realised that he esteemed her, and couldn’t help the rampant admiration he felt then. He couldn’t remember the last time he had esteemed someone. </p><p>It only strengthened his will to kill her. </p><p> </p><p>🔸</p><p> </p><p>In the end, everyone able to read the newspapers could tell he didn’t.</p><p>When the Marines take him he’s in scuffles, seastone weighing on him like a one-ton soggy blanket, and he can’t transform anymore. The sand is shifting under his feet. Between the soldiers’ shouts he can hear it hiss oh-so-quietly. </p><p>It is both infuriating and oddly comforting.</p><p>The sky is its typical blue, and the bird has already flown.</p><p> </p><p>🔸</p><p> </p><p>Because he’s a businessman, Crocodile likes work well done, and because he’s a pirate, he likes wreaking havoc from time to time. </p><p>All in all, he’s actually pretty satisfied with how the Impel Down escape went. </p><p> </p><p>🔸</p><p> </p><p>There is a certain threshold you have to reach to be granted Crocodile’s respect, and he’s proud to say it’s so high no one has managed to do it for now. </p><p>Then Whitebeard gets stabbed in the back and Crocodile is… surprisingly displeased. </p><p>This isn’t just your average pirate, this is fucking Whitebeard — and he knows he was trying to kill him just moments ago, but there is a difference between taking on Whitebeard head-on and stabbing a legend in the back, there is a world between pirates deciding for themselves who their next king will be and the scheming of a <em> bureaucrat </em>. If there is one thing Crocodile cannot stand, it’s meddling. </p><p>Likewise, if there is just one thing Crocodile is partial to, it’s competence—and when Whitebeard stands up, forgives his man and thus turns the situation around, competence becomes just another word for greatness. </p><p>Maybe his bar will not be set too low, Crocodile decides, if the strongest man in the world is the only one he respects. It won’t prevent him from trying to kill Whitebeard when this shitshow is over, so he supposes it’s alright. </p><p> </p><p>🔸</p><p> </p><p>In the end, Whitebeard dies in Marineford, and Crocodile doesn’t mourn but he does think: <em> too bad. </em></p><p> </p><p>🔸</p><p> </p><p>“Do you not believe in anything?” she had asked. </p><p>Observing her, Crocodile had let a smile creep on his face. “I believe in cold, hard cash.”</p><p>“As good a god as anything else.”</p><p>The smoke above her cup twirled, meeting the edge of her hat. The sun flooded through the windows again. There were shadows everywhere, and they were treading it, the both of them, with something akin to grace. “Do you believe in something, miss Allsunday ?”</p><p>She had tipped the cup, sipped some tea, a light smile on her lips. “No,” she had said elegantly, “not anymore.”</p><p> </p><p>🔸</p><p> </p><p>He <em> had </em> wondered, a few times, why she hadn’t talked about archaeology then. She had called money a god, but wasn’t that also what these old stones were for her: a tale, or a gospel? </p><p>He had never asked her, for in truth, he had never cared long enough to remember. </p><p>Now, though...</p><p>The sun is low but bright nevertheless, and the sea nearby, lashed by the wind, fills the air with salt. It tastes wrong on Crocodile’s tongue, and still he can’t help opening his mouth to snicker. </p><p>He guesses it’s quite a beautiful place, but he has never cared much for nature. He likes veined marble, limestone, ebony. Statues and gold-plated chandeliers. The two graves before him are just the opposite. </p><p>He doesn’t stare too long at Firefist’s one, but Whitebeard’s tomb he can’t help but look at. It’s raw stone, solid and white, both imposing and humble. </p><p>He ponders about the man that became a myth, how you could feel History writing itself in real time when you stood close enough to him, and ponders about what Nico Robin hadn’t said. What she had meant. He thinks he understands now: men or centuries, all of that ungodly material, made not to be worshipped but remembered.</p><p>He thinks it is doomed to fail, a foregone conclusion. But now… maybe he begins to understand the appeal of it. Though it’s delusional, and idiotic at best.</p><p>It sounds like an acknowledgement of failure. Maybe it is. <br/>
<br/>
</p><p>🔸</p><p> </p><p>He buys a new coat, he tries a new cigar brand, he pays men to slander Sakazuki in front of righteous Marines. It’s all in the little pleasures.</p><p>He doesn’t see Nico Robin again, not in a long time. He can’t say it turns his life upside down. He has other things to do. </p><p>Still, sometimes, he’ll be reading the newspapers when he stumbles upon the Strawhat Pirates. And before Crocodile’s nose scrunches up in annoyance at the captain’s picture, the line of his scar getting tangled, he’ll scan the page wondering if Nico’s bounty went up. </p><p>This is, after all, his best ex-employee, and the only one that survived a dismissal.</p><p>He guesses she’s doing fine. </p><p>He hopes Strawhat will make her rich. He hopes she isn’t still searching for those damned poneglyphs. </p><p>This would be such a waste of potential. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
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